So Much for Staying Out of Trouble
by Lumione
Summary: Harry resents being told he's a magnet for trouble. He attempts to prove this wrong by taking a vacation in the middle of the Afghan desert.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, or Iron Man, or The Avengers. As a result, I am making no money off of this-which is a shame, really, because another source of income would be awesome :/

**Author's Note:** I turned on the t.v. one night and Iron Man was on. I'd been kicking this story idea around for a little while before I saw the movie (I saw The Avengers with a friend), but, well, I already had my notebook out, and was trying to deal with a few plot-related issues with my other story, The Madman with a Box, and, well...this happened. I plan on at least one other chapter, maybe more if I can find the time/energy and get my hands on a copy of Iron Man and watch it again. We'll have to see how things go.

It's worth noting, I've never read the comics. This is based solely off the movies. Also, if any of my Madman readers find their way here and wonder why I've posted this instead of Chapter Three: I'm just waiting for Ash to give me her feedback. I anticipate posting the next chapter by the end of the week.

**Update 11/11/12:** Welcome to So Much For Staying Out of Trouble Chapter One version 2.0! I still have the original version saved, if it turns out you guys prefer that one more, but I personally felt that it-and all the other chapters I've written so far-needed some more work, especially in light of the fact I appear to be taking this story seriously now. So here you go, hope you enjoy :D

**Chapter One: The Bet**

It was supposed to have been an easy assignment. Magical items were turning up in Muggle secondhand shops. Not enchanted Muggle items—that would've been the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office's problem—but actual magical items, like Snitches. Some of the items had Dark enchantments, and the public has always felt safer when The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice deals with those cases.

So Harry and Ron had started visiting the shops and tracing the items back to their sources…and promptly been attacked by a crazy old hag who thought they were Grindlewald's men come to finish her off. And when they'd started firing spells back at her—mostly just Expelliarmus and the Full Body Bind, she was old and confused and they didn't want to hurt her—her house's defences had activated, and they'd had to call for back-up.

Harry had gotten away mostly unscathed; Ron had not. Which was why the dark-haired wizard currently found himself lurking in the shadows of St. Mungo's reception area, trying to make it to Ron's room without being noticed.

In theory, it wouldn't be too hard to manage; St. Mungo's seemed to be pretty busy. There was a man with what looked like Augurey feathers in place of hair on his head, sitting next to an older woman with colour-changing spots covering her skin. A teenager whose skin had turned green, and who was hovering a few inches above the ground, was resolutely ignoring his furiously whispering parents in one corner, while in another, a harassed-looking woman with her arm in a sling was desperately clutching a shuddering, clanging metal cage with a thick blanket covering it. There were a few other people with much more common conditions scattered throughout the room, and a handful of Healers running around as well.

In practice, though, it was never that easy. No matter where he went, people always seemed to notice him, and would stop him and ask for his autograph, or tell him what a great job he was doing as an Auror, or try to flirt with him, and as intrusive and unwelcome as he found it all, he could never find it in him to tell them to bugger off.

Harry Disillusioned himself and started making his way along the edge of the crowd. It was slow going, and there was a bit of an awkward moment when he forgot no one could see him and asked a Healer for directions, but eventually he found himself in a private room on the fourth floor. Ron was alone, though Hermione's coat and purse were lying on the windowsill. A number of cards and sweets sat on the table beside the bed.

"All right there, Harry?" Ron greeted him as he sat down. "How's the leg?"

"All right. Susan took care of it for me while I was reporting to Kingsley. How are you holding up?

Ron snorted. "I've got scales, mate. On my face. And a tail! And don't forget the cracked ribs. Nothing they try is doing any good. I don't think I've been this far from 'all right' since our little Horcrux hunt a few years ago."

"At least this time there weren't any Death Eaters. Or Voldemort."

"You think that makes it any better? When I end up in St. Mungo's, I want it to be because I was doing something dangerous and heroic, not because a cranky old hag got in a lucky shot."

"Fair enough," Harry grinned, leaning back in his chair and propping his legs up on the edge of the bed. "At least it wasn't as boring as we'd thought it'd be."

"It's never boring when you're around, mate," Ron mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate. "Remember that time we went for coffee and stumbled upon that smuggling ring?"

"Hard to forget accidentally giving yourself wings. You make it sound like that sort of thing happens all the time, though."

"It does, mate. But just when you're around. I've gone for coffee by myself dozens of times and never found smugglers or foiled a robbery or ended up kidnapped by a witch who wanted to have my babies. You, on the other hand, can't even go to the loo without tripping over a rabid Crup."

"That happened once!" Harry protested, sitting up straight in his chair and dropping his feet to the ground. "It's not like I trip over Crups every time I go to the loo!"

"Has anyone else ever?"

That made Harry pause. "I can too stay out of trouble," he eventually muttered, stealing a Chocolate Frog and biting into it with more force than was strictly necessary.

Ron snorted. "Wanna bet on it, mate?"

"You know what? Yeah, I do," Harry shot back. "I've been put on leave for a bit—seems Kingsley agrees with you that I'm trouble, and he needs a break from me. Two weeks. I bet you 10 Galleons I will have the most boring, uneventful two weeks of my entire life."

"You're on, mate. You're on."

**~o~o~**

Harry found himself plagued with problems almost from the moment he made the bet with Ron. Hermione, scandalized by how neither of them seemed at all concerned about their injuries or the case, had an apoplectic fit when she heard about the bet. She saw Harry's inability to stay out of trouble not just as a personal problem for him, but a potential disaster for the entire nation.

Privately, Harry couldn't help but agree; the things that bothered him did have an alarming tendency to bother Britain as well.

It took him awhile to settle on a destination—there were so many remote places to choose from—but eventually he decided on the Afghan desert. He'd heard the Muggles were still fighting in Afghanistan, but since a Google search showed that the war had been declared over and done with, he thought he could get away with picking a nice, remote part of the country, away from the areas where there was still fighting, and stay out of it.

There were supposedly a lot of scarcely populated areas in Africa, too, but Harry had never seriously considered going there. For one thing, there were a lot of Dark wizards running around, and though Harry was all in favor of defeating Dark Lord wannabes, he didn't want to lose his bet to do it. Africa could wait, he was sure to be sent there on assignment sooner or later.

Greenland was out, too, after what the Prophet had taken to calling The Polar Bear Incident.

The International Floo Network went offline for routine maintenance at about the same time Harry was ready to leave. Apparition was out, too; without a clear idea of exactly where you're going, you're liable to end up part of a rock or a tree or something. With Portkey and broom travel also off the table, for different reasons, that left Muggle transportation.

The flight from London to Dubai experienced engine trouble and had to turn back for emergency repairs. That caused him to miss his connecting flight to Kabul, and since he didn't want to wait another eight hours for the next one, he was forced to fly from Dubai to Kolkata (a Squib stewardess recognized him and just would not leave him alone) and then from Kolkata to Kabul (stuck between two screaming toddlers).

If he was being honest, Harry would admit that he'd thought about throwing in the towel right then and there. Only the thought of Ron's smug attitude—and the lecture Hermione would throw at him if he gave into temptation and punched his friend—kept him from giving up.

After he'd found a nice patch of desolate desert and settled in, things quieted down—so much so that he began to relax and seriously think he could win. The Wizarding tent he'd bought to camp out in was kept magically cool during the day, and warmer at night when the temperature dropped. He'd made sure the kitchen was well-stocked before leaving, so he wouldn't have to find somewhere to buy things and risk getting into trouble. He had all of the medical supplies he thought he might reasonably need, books (though not too many of those), a Wizarding Wireless, various puzzles and games, his broom, and a practice Snitch. He'd brought everything he thought he could possibly need.

He spent a lot of time outdoors, exploring the area and practicing his spellwork. Getting away from the Ministry for a while proved to be more enjoyable than he'd thought it would be, and he was really enjoying the peace and quiet.

And then, a little less than a week after he arrived in Afghanistan, a pillar of smoke appeared on the horizon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Welcome to Chapter Two v 2.0 :) I combined the previous versions of Chapters Three and Four and made a few minor changes; hopefully it turned out well. I have no idea when the next installment will be out; I keep telling myself I'm going to work on Madman and get the next chapter of that out before I do anything else-and I have been working on it, honest! But I am having so much difficulty with the chapter I'm working on, and I cannot for the life of me figure out where I'm going wrong. So this is happening instead :P

* * *

**Chapter Two: Here's Your Ten Galleons, Ron**

After a moment's hesitation, Harry Disillusioned himself and jumped on his broom. He was pretty certain this would cost him the bet, but smoke meant fire, and there couldn't be anything on fire in the desert unless someone had brought it into the desert with them. Sand cannot burn.

That meant it was pretty likely that someone needed help. No one would come all this way to have a barbeque, after all. And Harry didn't think he could live with himself if someone was hurt or killed because he hadn't wanted to lose a bet.

He wasn't quite sure what to make of the pieces of metal scattered across the desert floor, but it seemed reasonable to assume they were from some sort of machine. Probably a flying one, because to smash into pieces like that, the machine would've needed to hit the sand at a fairly high speed. He didn't know enough about Muggle machinery to guess at more than that.

Some interestingly colourful curse words pulled Harry from his thoughts, and he blinked back into awareness just as a man pulled himself out from underneath the main part of the wreckage.

He was a good-looking man, with dark, messy hair, and skin with a healthy tone to it. His build was average, verging on slender, and there didn't seem to be anything remarkable about him. And yet, Harry mused as he watched the man searching through the wreckage, he'd managed to haul himself out of the sand and scattered bits of metal without any help—and despite his obvious injuries.

Without really thinking about it, Harry flew behind a nearby sand dune and dropped out of the sky. After shrinking his broom and reversing the Disillusionment Charm, he started making his way back towards the wreckage, reaching the top of the dune just in time to see the man collapse a short distance away. Cursing a bit under his breath, he started trudging faster.

He reached the man just as he was shakily getting back on his feet. "Easy there, mate," Harry said soothingly, hoping not to startle him too badly, and taking an arm to support him. "I've got you."

The man straightened up and pulled away, turning to face him fully.

Up close, Harry could tell his new friend was closer to forty than thirty, which he hadn't been expecting, and there was a faint blue glow coming from underneath his shirt. His intense brown eyes reminded him of Hermione: full of life and intelligence, analyzing everything and everyone they met and storing their findings away for future reference. Harry had to forcibly stop himself from fidgeting.

The man was clearly injured—clothes torn, cuts and bruises scattered across his skin, a split lip, holding one arm close to his body at an awkward angle—but he was standing almost defiantly straight, as if daring Harry to try and help him again. Harry couldn't help but smile a little at that; he tended to have the same sort of reaction, after all.

"You're late."

Harry jumped a little, having gotten lost in his thoughts, which caused the man to smirk. "Er…I am?"

"Obviously." The man rolled his eyes, winced, then gestured towards the wreckage behind him. "Seeing as I rescued myself before you even found me." His eyes left Harry for a few moments and scanned the horizon, as if looking for something.

"Oh, um, I'm not part of any sort of rescue team," Harry attempted to explain, stumbling over his words. "I'm, er, I'm sort of camping out over there," he gestured vaguely back towards his camp, "and I saw the smoke, so…here I am."

"Uh huh, right. You're just a regular guy, nothing special about you or your job, not military or terrorist or anything like that, who just randomly said to himself one day 'Gee, I've got all this vacation time I haven't used, I should go camping in the middle of a war-torn desert.' Because, you know, that's something people like to do."

"You'd be surprised," Harry replied, grinning a little at the man's cheek. He probably should've done better research into this whole Afghanistan thing, but too late for that now, and anyway things tend to go worse when he tries to plan ahead. "It's a bit of a long story, but if you substitute 'unused vacation time' with 'stupid bet with my friend', you've pretty much got the gist of it."

"Ah. Well, I know all about making stupid bets with people. You said your camp's nearby? Awesome. Why don't we make our way over there before the sun turns us into a couple of crispy bacon strips?"

"Sounds good," Harry agreed, and the two men started making their way back towards Harry's camp. "My name's Harry, by the way. Harry Potter."

"Tony Stark," the man replied, shaking his hand. Tony stared at him expectantly for a few moments, but when Harry didn't say or do anything else, he smirked and turned away. "Let's go, Arthur Dent. We've got some walking to do."

**~o~o~**

There was definitely something weird going on.

Granted, flying face first into the ground and digging himself out had taken up most of his attention for a while. And the way his head was pounding, he probably had some sort of a head injury. So, maybe, just maybe, he'd missed something, some perfectly logical explanation that would tell him exactly how a young, good-looking British man had happened to show up at his crash site, with no idea who he was—Tony had been watching him carefully as they exchanged names, and there'd been no recognition there whatsoever— and seemingly no ulterior motive for wanting to help him out.

Or maybe the head injury had led to hallucinations. Somehow, though, Tony really didn't think that was the case—or that he'd missed anything.

If he'd been in some sort of military uniform, Tony probably wouldn't have questioned it. He had no doubt the U.S. military had pulled in all of their resources, and their allies' resources, to help in the search for their biggest weapons manufacturer. The man—Harry, he'd called himself, hadn't he?—carried himself like a soldier, standing straight, shoulders back, steps easy and graceful, and he had that air of being constantly alert and in control that so many soldiers seemed to have. Yeah, Tony could see him as a soldier.

But there was no sign of any weapons on him, not that Tony had been able to notice. And he was wearing glasses—not many soldiers did that nowadays, preferring to correct their vision in a way that couldn't be knocked off their face during a fight. And his hair was definitely too long and messy.

The thing that really tripped him up, though, was the sweat. There was no sign of any mode of transport, so Harry had to have walked to him. But he wasn't sweating, didn't look tired or dusty, like he'd been kicking up a lot of sand—and, really, it hadn't been that long between Tony's landing and Harry showing up. Again, he'd been rather preoccupied, but he was pretty sure it hadn't been long enough for someone to have walked from a camp that was too far away for him to see.

So, that meant…what, exactly?

Oh well. Tony mentally shrugged, hissing as he felt a sharp stab of pain, and continued struggling through the sand. He had a feeling he was going to have plenty of time to figure this guy out.

* * *

J**ust a quick A/N, because a reviewer mentioned this, I like talking about things, and I can't send them a PM: **Tony's age. I did not throw that bit of info in there in response to a review, or anything like that; Harry is studying Tony in that moment, and if he's noting his hair and eye color, and his intelligence, he's probably noting his age, too. I did research online before throwing that detail in, because I'm like that, and couldn't get a straight answer as to how old Tony was when he made the suit. Between the comics and movies and RDJ and people having their own opinions...the general consensus seemed to be that Tony *was* in his thirties, though opinions varied on which end of the spectrum. I decided to make him a bit older for two reasons: 1) one of the potential developments for this story may make more sense if there's more of an age difference between Harry and Tony (in my head Harry's about 25) and 2) after watching Iron Man, that's how old I thought he was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Oh look, I'm alive :D I've had this pretty much done for ages, but haven't really had the chance to post it until now. Credit must be given to **LoveLifeForever**, who made me think about my story a bit more/in a new way, and now things are going to happen that I hadn't ever intended :P

Not that what I intend matters much to this story-it seems to have it's own ideas about what's going to happen next :P

* * *

**Chapter Three: A Difficult Dilemma**

The second time Tony collapsed (with the first time being right before Harry introduced himself), he pulled himself to his feet fairly quickly, glaring stubbornly at the hand Harry offered him. The third time, he stayed down for a couple of minutes, and-rather grudgingly-accepted Harry's help in getting back on his feet.

The fourth time, Harry thought Tony might've died, he stayed down so long, and when he finally stood again, he couldn't walk without Harry's help. Harry glanced back behind them; he could still see the wreckage, though it was a fair distance away. _At this rate_, he thought to himself rather miserably, _we'll die of dehydration before making it back to camp._

The fifth time Tony collapsed, Harry sent a silent _Dormitis_ in his direction. Tony stayed down this time, and Harry pulled out his broom, cancelled the Shrinking Charm he'd placed on it, and flew them back to his camp.

If he was being honest, he'd admit he had been ready to do something like that after the third time. He'd almost Stunned him right then and there; the only thing that had stopped him had been the blue glow he'd noticed near Tony's heart. He didn't know what it was or why it was there, and he didn't want to find out the hard way.

It took him a little while to work out a spell that would be safe to use on Tony, but once he was sure that an enchanted sleep wouldn't cause any harm, Harry took the next chance he got to make use of it.

He didn't like the idea of using magic on an unsuspecting and defenceless Muggle, but he was pretty sure Tony needed medical attention as soon as possible. _Besides_, Harry reasoned as he flew in for a landing, _it's not like he'll ever find out_.

Harry laid Tony down gently on his bed—extraordinarily pleased he'd bought a Wizarding tent that could probably pass as a Muggle one, maybe, once he put a Muggle-Repelling Charm on that doorway over there—and yanked his cell phone out of his pocket. Hermione had insisted he bring it with him—saying that if he didn't, he was sure to need it—and he was now very glad he'd listened to her.

"I've got to say, Harry," Susan greeted him, picking up after the fourth ring, "I have never been so glad to lose a Galleon before in my entire life."

Susan Bones had been in the Auror program with him—at least, at first. She'd quickly gotten tired of being "Amelia's niece", however, and eventually joined the Healer program instead. There, she could get by on her own merits—and patch Harry up on a regular basis.

"Wotcher, Susan, I need—wait, what? What are you talking about?"

"There's a betting pool going on your little trip: how long you'll last, what condition you'll be in when you get back, how many laws you'll break, a bunch of different things. I put my money on three days for the first one; Seamus is out, too, he gave you less than a day. But you didn't call me to talk about that, I'm sure. What can I do for you?"

"You-you guys are taking bets," Harry stuttered, "on the outcome of _my_ bet? That's—I am both shocked and not shocked, actually. Who set this up? Was it Ron? Or George? And, Susan—_three days_? Really? That's all you thought—"

"Harry!" Susan interrupted, laughing. "What did you call me for?"

"Oh, right. I found a Muggle who looks like he's in pretty bad shape; can you come by and take a look at him? I don't know if he can wait for me to find a Muggle doctor."

And just like that, Susan was gone, and Harry was speaking to Healer Bones. "What happened, Harry? What kind of injuries does he have?"

"I saw smoke and went to investigate, and there he was. Pulled himself out of the wreckage of some kind of machine—maybe one that flew? His arm's either broken, or his shoulder's dislocated, and the way he's holding himself I'd bet his ribs are injured somehow. Internal injuries maybe, possible head injury? It's hard to tell, he can't stay conscious for more than five minutes but that could be any number of things. Oh, and there's some kind of glowing blue thing in his chest."

"A 'glowing blue thing'?"

"Yeah. It's not magical, as far as I can tell, but I have no idea what it is."

A pause. "Only you, Harry," Susan sighed, managing to sound both amused and exasperated at the same time. "Give me a few minutes and I'll be right there."

**~o~o~**

"Well?" Harry asked, breaking the silence, as Susan finished up the last of her diagnostic spells. "What d'you reckon?"

"You were right about the arm, Harry. And the ribs. Dislocated shoulder, fractured ribs, mild concussion, a few minor burns, plenty of cuts and bruises. And there are some metal fragments lodged in his chest."

"There are?" Harry took another look at Tony's chest—as soon as his shirt was off, Harry'd taken a closer look at the 'glowing blue thing'. It was circular, and rose several millimetres from his chest. When Harry'd hovered his hand over it, wanting to touch it, he'd felt a sort of…tingle, for lack of a better word, similar to the sort of feeling he used to get at Hogwarts: like there was a lot of strong magic in the air.

He also hadn't noticed any signs of serious injury.

"There are. That's what I think this is for," she replied, gently tapping the source of the blue glow. "It's messing with my scans a bit, so I can't get a clear reading on it, but there are definitely pieces of metal in this man's chest, and they seem to have been there awhile. Normally, they'd have moved into his heart, or cut an artery or something, and he'd be dead."

"But they haven't, and he's not."

"Right, so something must be stopping them. And there's nothing else present that might explain things."

"Huh." Harry chewed his lower lip as he thought about that for a few moments. "Well, that's…can you get it out of him? I mean, get the bits of metal out, _then_ get it out? It can't be fun having that thing in his chest, and what if something happened to it?"

"I knew you'd ask me that," Susan sighed. "I knew it."

"Well? Can you?"

Susan hesitated for a few moments. "I think I can," she replied slowly. "Getting the metal out will be easy enough. That…device will be trickier to remove, and I'll want another Healer on standby to restart his heart. We'll have to regrow the bones and muscles that were removed to make room for it; also tricky, but doable. But, Harry…"

"What is it, Susan?" Harry's stomach suddenly sunk into his shoes.

"There's no way that thing was put in him without his knowing about it. If we take it out now, while he's asleep, he'll notice. We'll have to erase weeks, maybe months of memories. That sort of thing always has an effect on a person. Not that we could erase his memory right now—"

"—because of the concussion." Harry finished for her. "We'd have another Lockhart on our hands, if we were lucky. So it's either leave that thing in him…"

"…or let a Muggle know about magic, lose our jobs, and get arrested for breaking the Statute of Secrecy."


End file.
